Fade
by Zycho32
Summary: [Cats Don't Dance] The fourth wall is broken, and a fundamental question about toons is answered. Tragedy in its own right.


AUTHORS NOTE: The characters are copyright Warner Bros., at least except for me. If you wish to know the particulars of this story and what-not, I ask you to look at the section after this story is finished. But for now, I want you to look at the story, please.  
  
"Fade"  
  
A story by Zycho32  
  
How do toons die?  
  
Surely many others must wonder that specific question. I have often wondered it myself. Toons are seen blasted to peices, hacked into bits, smashed with weights and anvils, and who knows what else. And they always come back to normal. You could even try something similar to The DIP, and it still wouldn't work....at least not really.  
  
No......  
  
The real way to kill a toon is tragic.........  
  
I suppose the best thing that I can do is lay down the complete and total truth. I am not speaking from the viewpoint of Jake Anderson, or anyone from the CDD Universe. I am merely myself, a simple Wisconsin teenager by the name of Jason Thyrion. I am a writer who has immersed himself into this place with such amazing clarity that it feels I live two lives in one. One is my own, and the other is Jake Anderson, my alter-ego perhaps. Jake belongs here, but I don't.  
  
The past couple of months in Hollywood brought on some disconcerting changes within myself, changes that shouldn't happen. Whenever i'm here, I am Jake, and Jake's appearance is always uniform, like most characters in Comic Strips. At first it was only my eyesight that got progressively worse, until I was eventually forced to wear glasses. At first I felt nothing troubling about the fact. I treated it like it was a simple added detail that took a while to develop. Besides, I got a good look at the appearance of Jake with the glasses and they added....well, a more shy element to the character.  
  
Later on I realized I was gaining weight at a steady and moderate pace, like about 5 pounds a week...after a month it accelerated to twenty, regardless of how hard I worked to shed it off. Even my work-out regimes were shortened becuase I somehow became winded, like my stamina was completely diminished.....at least my height rocketed up a couple feet to offset it, if not very much.  
  
I was forced to discard my yellow sweater, teal pants, and white shoes. Soon I placed myself in a plethora of shirts and pants, and it was hard to handle at first. Soon I convinced myself that perhaps it was only maturing my character into something more believable. After all, Jake was a real runt with a body that would've fit better for someone twice his size. He had a very interesting ability with his left hand and his sweater was like a magic bag of tricks. Then there was his balance and his bouts of craziness. I mean, the character looked so out of place in a more realistic kind of world like this one.  
  
This was before things really started to go downhill and led things the way they are now.  
  
Any given time of up to a month or two after this change in myself, characters started to dissapear. There were never signs of struggles at the places where they lived, no signs of blood or other evidence that might have proven vital to locate and rescue the vanished party. It was like they never existed to begin with.  
  
At first it was very small bit players and then some of a the smaller role players that vanished. They went rapidly, perhaps a bit too rapidly. There were no signs of predjudice towards animals because several humans also seemed to vanish. Then it happened in quick succession to Francis, TW, and Cranston. No warning, no signal, no nothing. One day they were there and the next they weren't.  
  
My friends were beyond alarmed at that moment. It wasn't just the dissapearances that unnerved them, it was also the fact that Hollywood seemed to become enveloped in some kind of thin mist. But they always looked at me in a way that got me kinda worried as well. It was like I was being accused of the whole damn thing.  
  
I think it was when Woolie vanished that the general panic with my friends descended into silent horror. They couldn't function anymore on their jobs and chose to take some small vacation time to try and get themselves back in order. Singing and dancing didn't seem so fun nowadays.  
  
One of the more interesting things that occured was the fact that Danny was more or less living at Sawyer's house during this time, even sharing her bed. He admitted at one point that is was a desperate need for comfort that prompted him to do it, and probably the same reason she accepted such a thing. If one could feel safe in another one's arms, then by all means persue that feeling of safety. What have you got to lose from it? I couldn't even bother to ask about what they may have done in the bed, because it would've been cruel. Even crueler when you realize the stress both were in and their urgent need to be protected from their own fears.  
  
He still found it hard to sleep, and so did she. What if you went to sleep and the one you were next to vanished in the middle of the night? How badly would that hurt you in the morning, realizing that no matter what happened, you couldn't escape it, couldn't prevent it, couldn't stop it?  
  
The timing must have been a bit off for them because for the first time, two beings vanished at once. Pudge and Tillie had surprisingly held together for a long period of time, and it was only a matter of time before they fell too. This devastated my feline friends, and it left them with the fact they were alone in this city now. But for me? Somehow they seemed to forget my prescence more and more over time, which wasn't what was to be expected.  
  
The mist had become progressively thicker, almost literally swallowing up Mammoth Studios.  
  
I was walking on the streets, heading towards the appartment that Danny had and was currently moving out of to live with Sawyer full-time. I still felt a feeling of sadness for those two, living life in fear like this. Forced into each other's arms out of desperation, looking for.....well, a sense of security. It's a very tragic thing to do.  
  
It's noticble that love admist social or other kinds of ruin is rather tragic. It can't save your lives, but it can help you to deal with idea of a possible death.....it's a very effective drug. Somehow, I think that's what attacthes me to such tragedies. Life itself is a tragedy to uphold because of its constant struggle.  
  
My mind had been wondering why I seemed to have forgotten most of my friends. Of course, I didn't know the vanished ones very well. I had very little contact with TW, no contact with Francis, little contact with Woolie.....Cranston was somewhat a different matter though. I have had contact with him with the past, found him an okay conversationalist when he wasn't in one of his moods. So why did he go before Woolie did?  
  
At an emotional level, Woolie was a better chance to last longer than Cranston, I theriorized. Emotional appeal works with how much you're worked with.  
  
Tillie and Pudge only lasted so long was because they filled the role of best friends to Danny and Sawyer.  
  
Reminded of the felines, I remember the purpose of my trip of today. That would be helping Danny pack up his belongings for this little move. Admittedly, it's hard to make my way around here anymore. The fog refuses to lift, turning into something from Hound of the Baskervilles. It's almost errie in the daytime when shadows appear from the mist like phantoms, and it's even worse at night with the lights being used to illuminate the streets. Hold it.....  
  
Didn't Danny own a hat? I have forgotten if he did.  
  
For some reason this terrifies me and makes he hurl my body down the streets, ignoring the fact my body can no longer take this kind of abuse without making me gasp for air and feel like my chest will just burst at any second. It doesn't matter right now. I am scared out of my wits and I KNOW why.  
  
Danny.  
  
Something is wrong with Danny.  
  
Something extremely horrifying.  
  
I've always considered myself to be a cool head under pressure, at least in my imagination. I always imagined myself handling adversity and threats to my life with uncompromising calm demeanor. This wasn't possible in real life, of course, but in this universe I was very good at it.  
  
I'm using the term "was", because i'm currently pounding on Danny's apartment door like a madman and screaming his name and trying to ask if he's alright. Only goes on for a good few seconds before I mange to stop, taking huge breaths of air that my lungs desperately need.  
  
I'm met with complete and total silence. I try the doorknob and it gives away easily. Unlocked.  
  
Without thinking, I open the door and burst into the room, hoping i'm not too late.  
  
Somehow, I wish I was too late. This is so much worse.  
  
The god-damn color of his body, clothes and all, is fading away.  
  
I'm filled with fear as I watch this process for a few seconds before I can force my body to move to the phone. I know who I need to call.....the only one I can call right now.  
  
"Hello?" Comes from the other end. A feminine voice, one I know well.  
  
"Sawyer, you need to get here fast! Something is wrong with Danny!" I anxiously reply, feeling panic flow through my veins thicker than blood. It hurts terribly.  
  
"What- who is this? What are you saying? I can't understand you." Is the response from her, and i'm so stunned I can't try to say it again. I think I understand what she's confused about. In real life my voice is often hard to understand because I don't concentrate hard enough to say it. It comes out like a mumble of sorts.  
  
Jake's voice was the exact opposite, clear, smooth.  
  
"This is Jake." I reply, stressing my voice to be better understandable to her. "No, don't try to ask me what's wrong with my voice. I'm not the one to worry about right now. It's Danny.......he's fading."  
  
"Fading??" Panic is in her voice, and she isn't even trying to disguise it.  
  
"Yes. Get down here NOW." I sternly speak to her, praying she won't ignore this and hide in fear. I can't afford that to happen.  
  
The phone hangs up, but I know she'll get here. She has to.  
  
She has to.  
  
Carefully I place the pillow under Danny's head, being as gentle as I possibly can. I'm trying to keep him around long enough so Sawyer can arrive. I don't know how, but i've got a hunch she'll be able to help him.  
  
He's silent. He can't speak. He can barely move either. He never seems like he's in pain when he moves, but he moves as if in a dream. I've tried moving in dreams. You're sluggish, you do everything you can, but it always feels like you're swimming in molasses, unable to drive yourself far enough to break out.  
  
I've handed him a pencil and a pad of paper, and he's been writing as best as he can about what had been happening. He had been explaining that he was busy putting on his clothes and had just finished when he suddenly felt light-headed and exhausted, and fell to the floor in a heap of fur. From there he felt nauseated as he saw the color start to drain from his body and even from his clothes.  
  
I look around, and then I start to notice that the room around him has become absolutely barren, except for the couch that i've got Danny lying on. The details are fading away into nothing. A look outside the window and the fog grows even thicker. I know what it means.  
  
Danny is a toon. This Hollywood is a toon version of the real thing. They are both dying.  
  
But how?  
  
I feel a weak tug on my arm and Danny feebily hands me one peice of paper that I read. I notice that he is completely black and white now, and I don't know what will happen next to him.  
  
Then I myself feel dizzy and the peice of paper falls right through my hand. It doesn't slip form my grasp, it falls completely through my hand as if it wasn't really there.  
  
I stare at the single question on the paper as it slowly flutters to the ground in slow motion.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
I should've realized this sooner.  
  
I am no longer Jake Anderson. I am now Jason Thyrion, a 17 year old nobody from Wisconsin, a kid of many faults, a kid who's torn between the comical and the gothic. I am fully myself in this world, and it scares me. I created this world and I created my alter-ego to escape from real life and assume an identity so much what I want to be like in the real world but can never have. My gift of writing was the portal to which I could do this. Jake Anderson was the anchor to this world, and now that anchor is lost.  
  
Therefore, I am lost.....I don't exist in this world, I shouldn't exist in this world.....yet I am.  
  
*KNOCK, KNOCK!*  
  
It felt like a dream.  
  
The door opened and Sawyer entered. She was worried sick, and then she looked positively frightened. For one breif sickening moment, I though she would turn back and run. Instead she passed right through my body like I was thin air to get at Danny.  
  
The place really is a dream. I do not exist at all, except as a spectator to the final moments of a final episode, and it's a bad experience. The place feels foggy, I cannot hear except for slow murmers, and my body feels like a feather and just as hard to control.  
  
Sawyer is saying something to Danny, but I cannot comprehend it. The cat had started to become slowly transparent, black outlines left of his figure. She was begging him to fight it, from what I could comprehend. It was impossible, because he soon became totally transparent, and then the lines started to.....well, a drawing starts with a pencil sketch. The outlines became thinner, weaker.....dying.  
  
By now she was desperately trying to grab him, damn near tears. She couldn't. He no longer was matter whatsoever. Now all that remained was a line slowly fading into nothing.  
  
I saw his last words to her before he completely vanished into oblivion, and I could never forget them. It was something I secretly knew about before hand, back when I had the perceptive powers of my alter-ego to use at my dispoal.  
  
I love you...  
  
The last minute was drawing to a close. The walls started to turn grey, as gray as the fog outside. Sawyer was heartbroken, crying pitifully on the now nonexistant couch, mourning over a lost love that she had only lost to a cruel hand. The hand that spoke of a dying world. I couldn't help. She never knew I was there.  
  
It became so clear to me as I watched her body fade away in record time with the floor.  
  
It was my fault.  
  
I killed them.  
  
I discovered the lone way to kill a toon. I was left with that cold, hard fact as her outlines vanished with the rest of the room and all that was left was my mind and a gray void.  
  
You kill a toon by forgetting about them...........  
  
I woke up in a sweat and my heart thumping like the only way a heart can thump after you've experienced a nightmare. I look aorund. Teal walls, closet, personal computer.....my own room back in Wisconsin, back in the real world.  
  
I look at the alarm clock. 4 in the morning on a monday. School will officially start in four hours, and I will be getting ready to go there in 2-3 hours.  
  
I can't sleep. There's no way that I could sleep, after what I just dreamed. I look at the computer.  
  
Turning off my alarm, I go to my computer and turn it on, waiting patiently as it boots up. The whole dream is still vivid in my memory, and I don't know how much longer it will be until it fades away.  
  
It has to be a lesson to myself.  
  
The only way to kill a toon is to forget about them......I forgot about them. Now I will remember them again.  
  
I will once again recreate Hollywood and its cast of colorful characters. I will recreate myself as Jake Anderson in this world. I will bring back Danny, Sawyer, and their friends. I will not forget them again.  
  
I get my Word Processing page up and right away I start typing, welcoming myself back into my own personal world. It feels like home already.  
  
How do toons die?.................  
  
THE END  
  
A Special Note from the Author:  
  
Good evening guys! Or good morning or even afternoon, depending on the time you're reading this story. This is Zycho32, your trusted fanfiction writer for CDD, even though I will never be the only one in existance. I trust you enjoyed this story? Really? Thanks a lot! I'm assuming you're thinking it's only a clever idea that I made use of for the norm, complete with a different character behind Jake Anderson?  
  
You'd be wrong about that. My real name is Jason Thyrion. I do live in Wisconsin, and everything i've said about myself is real. I didn't even lie about my room.  
  
The dream involved in this story is not real. At least, it's not like the way I described it in the story. Actually, it took place over this past year.  
  
My last submition to Shelley Pleger's fan site was in December of last year, called "Let it Snow." Since then i've done one other peice of work for Cats Don't Dance, which was a remake of one of my first storys, a two- parter called "Rhythm of the Night". After that, I haven't done one single peice of work for this animated feature.  
  
In essence I had taken a sabbatical of sorts from the writing business, but I was also killing off my writing career by doing so. You do not do that kind of thing without losing some of your ability due to not constantly expressing it.  
  
Therefore, with this story, I have offically announced my return to writing fanfiction for CDD.  
  
What follows next will be a story on Christmas, which will be finished about the same time and placed on the Yahoo Groups site. Then I shall introduce two new characters in another story and then spend the rest of next year pulling out a collection of small, interesting stories that are best considered fill-ins. Expect 2004 and then on to be action-packed.  
  
My e-mail address has changed. Now it's Zycho32@yahoo.com  
  
I look forward to your responses. Thank you and have a good time. 


End file.
